Suit of Diamonds and Clovers
by Cosmiac
Summary: Magic is everything and with the Royals seen as superior, in both magic and in status. Mai Wyverlis, a 15 year old girl from a notorious noble family of creators in the arcane world, has everything one could wish for. Servants, riches, fame. Her life is perfect. Except... for the fact that her magic is quite lackluster for noble standards.
1. The Family

**_Chapter 1: The Family_**

 **Tea** streamed into the delicate fine china, a thin trail of steam wisping into the air. Accompanied by an aroma of mint in spring rain, the rich darkened brown contrasted with the heavenly porcelain pot which was handled with care by a tall man, eyebrows forever raised as he pursed his thin lips. The pouring of the liquid stopped almost as soon as it had begun, the man straightened his back and subserviently continued to make his way down the dining table.

"More tea, sir?" He spoke without an accent, yet carried himself in a refined manner. A deep tone reverberating throughout the vast dining hall, bouncing off the the pearl walls and falling unto the ears of his masters. The spout of the large bellied teapot rested above the cup. He stood patiently awaiting an answer, as rays of sunlight reflected off of his glasses. Elegant silver curtains draped over broad arched windows, neatly pulled back with diamond clasps.

A man sat at the head of the table. It glimmered in the sunlight, specks of diamonds scattered across the glass. This was the main reason that the curtains were always pulled open during the day. The man looked as if he belonged there, at the head. His sole purpose of being born was to perch himself high above others around him, meant to view the world from a vista of superiority. A white beard was grown around his lower features, hair the color of brown mixed with ashes. It was carefully slicked back, beginning to age at the roots. He simply nodded his head, wisps of steam floating up to a pale, stern face. No words had to leave his lips for the butler to comply, walking over to the next person who sat closest to the man.

A woman with the same ashen hair, eyes the color of pure sea-foam, yet she lacked the serenity that the waves brought. Her skin was the color of cream and had blemishes of age which resembled soft bubbling coffee, time had done her well for her age. Although the texture of her skin was not youthful, it lacked unpleasant lines of age. The Butler questioned her as he had the man before, and the response she gave was no different, if not with a touch of disdain.

Inside this silent dining hall, the only noise made was the soft pouring of tea and the clang of silverware against silver platters.

Lining the table, were twelve seats resembling small thrones. The chairs were created from glass, translucent diamonds crowned the backrests. Eight of the twelve were occupied by the inhabitants of the castle, yet the room was devoid of all commotion and warmth. This room, was cold and barren, even though the decor was extravagant and filled up the large space. A white fireplace was constructed into the wall, behind the man at the head, a surprise that it was unlit. Dark oak logs rested inside of the pit, calling to be alight. On both sides of the fireplace, were indentations in the wall. Seemingly, made to form a corridor, yet they were four inches deep and their only purpose served was to have tall statues appearing as gods above mortals, filling in the space. The stone man and woman held large hammers in their left hands, and held their right outstretched, fingers spread apart. The symbol of The Craft. The process of forming man made creations. One of the many, representations of the Wyverlis.

Checkered marble tiled the floor and a chandelier crafted of authentic diamonds draped over their forms. It complemented the large silver portraits of family members, interspersed between windows on each side. The intricate frames drew away from the detail of the photographs, a shot of women and men from head to chest. They wore porcelain and silver, seafoam eyes and ashen brown hair, the only difference between them being skin complexions. In the middle of each set of portraits, was a single large one. One of a man and one of a woman.

Ferdinand J. Wyverlis and his wife, Monarda Wyverlis.

All remembered their names throughout the four kingdoms. Clover, Diamond, Heart, and Spade. Who wouldn't? The pair had changed the entire world together, not just their own.

Significant, in the Wyverlis House, bringing this family back from the Hell they had fallen to. Even in death, they were never forgotten. If it were not for them, there would not be a chandelier or a table with a set of thrones for chairs. And that of course, was all they cared about. They spoke not about the delicious meal before them, they did not ask how the morning had been going or if the night's sleep was well. They did not concern themselves with one another. Instead, cold, cold contraptions gathered around the table, programmed to eat and sleep. To maintain the utmost health which permit them to hold on to what they cared about most. The life of nobility flowed through their veins, their hearts filled to the brim with riches as opposed to love.

The Butler paused once again, his actions so well orchestrated, a dance could be made out of his duty. He straightened the black suited attire that he wore, a lone color within this castle of light hues. "More tea, Lady Mai?" The pot hovered over her empty, dry cup, only for her to immediately stick a tawny colored hand over the top, blocking the spout.

She looked up at the butler, soft spoken and polite, "No, thank you, Alston. I'm fine." A smile followed behind her words, her eyes squinting slightly, clear and peaceful. Every breakfast, lunch, and supper, tea was served and she would always decline in some way or another.

Alston's eyes were the color of the ocean, a beautiful blue hidden behind round frames complementing his youthful features, although he was middle aged. His lips twitched, her mind hadn't been playing tricks on her, yet he didn't smile. Those watery eyes glanced to the man next to her, at the head of the table and then back to her, before nodding his head. Within minutes, he disappeared through the dark oak doors leading to the kitchens, either because he had to retrieve more tea or he knew his services were not needed at the moment. The man had been with the family for as long as she could remember, he had undying loyalty to stay with the Wyverlis House.

Mai was left staring after the butler, her warm smile sticking to her lips like glue, before her gaze shifted to the man at the head of the table. She immediately wished she hadn't. His glare cut through her skin as if it was only a ripe peach. Eyes the same color as hers, yet they burned angrily at such an intensity she could never wish to obtain. The silence at the table was deafening, much more apparent now, as eyes fell flat on her small figure. All she wanted was for someone to speak, anyone to say something worthwhile before a horrid thing happened. Her wish would not get granted in this lifetime- or in death. She held back a flinch, as she braced herself for what was to come. Consequences for actions that she could not help.

The man before her took a sharp breath, suppressing oncoming anger, "how many times have I told you? Royalty does not befriend the _help_!" The emotions he partially withheld, made his face begin to redden with anger. With every word that dark emotion began to warp into something greater.

As he seemed to wait for her answer, Mai shifted in her seat, dark lips parting and closing countless times, while she fumbled over answers in her frantic mind. "I- I-" Her stomach churned, although her hunger was sated, and then dropped below her feet when his hands drew into fists.

A loud bang took up the silence, silverware launching into the air from the sudden force applied to the glass table. Surprisingly, it hadn't broken.

"Do you want to be treated like those animals living in those shacks?" His lips pulled back in a sneer, nose wrinkled in utter disgust as he looked at her. "Well, do you?!" The man raised his voice well above a speaking tone, he boomed over her, larger than life compared to her insignificant figure.

Mai did not meet his gaze, staring down at the unfinished blueberry pancakes, her plate dirtied with syrup. "N-No." The words were low, a stuttering whisper. Her throat had dried up and as much as she hated tea, she wished for some at this moment.

"What?" Mai felt his breath on her ear, he had gotten closer to her, his tone brought back below a yell. Mocking bitterness tangled within his words, not even bothering to bury it beneath. "I can't hear you, Mai."

She opened her eyes wider than need be, praying that the tears brimming at the edge of her lower lids would not slip and fall. Fighting to keep her voice steady against the tears, she spoke. "No." Mai took the fork in her hand and began playing with her food, lips flattened as she let out a sniffle. "No, I'm sorry, father." She refused to blink and refused to look at him, bowing her head in meek resignation. Her fingers tightened around the fork.

He scoffed, voice filled with nothing but displeasure. Taking her chin with his fingers and picking her head up to face him. It was deliberate. " _Yes_. You are very sorry." He wanted her to see how his eyes were full of hatred for his only daughter, on behalf of the Wyverlis House, all of his loathing was on display. "I might as well treat you like a lowly commoner with that pitiful level of magic that you possess." He spat the words like venom in the eyes of an enemy.

She flinched, salt applied to the wound her family had inflicted on her at a young age. Even as she held her eyes wide open, attempting to fight shedding a tear, she felt a streak of wetness slowly moving down the right side of her face.

Looking back at the rest at her family members, was something she refused. They would all share the same looks. It was times like this that she often forgot that there was one person in the room who was on her side, yet, they had not come to her aid at that moment.

"Such a disappointment." Her father snatched his fingers away from her chin, pushing her face to the side with his thumb. The unkind motion left her staring at an ebony square tile, a blank, frozen stare as she wished she could sink deep into the darkness, get taken by the shadows and thrown into oblivion. Then, he could not find her. Then, he could not touch her.

Fury attacked her chest like heartburn, she bit her lip and did not look up at the man. It swirled around inside of her and dangerously burned through her flesh and bones until there was nothing left, until she was nothing left. A buildup of pain and sorrow that she buried in a grave. Compared to her relatives, the commoners and the servants were not beneath her, but insolence was. And after all… she did not act. Somewhere far off on another planet, she shot up from her seat and slapped the once imposing man. She left no room for a challenge and asserted the new found power she would have over _him_.

But this was only a dream. A sweet, sweet dream.

And she knew better than to dwell for too long in a fantasy world. In reality, structures were made and were not easily broken. Her place was to listen to what he told her, no matter how it made her feel, because he was the king of this castle and although she was the princess, she was in exile.

A faint clicking of heels against the marble floor grew farther away from her and his air of vexation lingered in his place. The heavy doors slammed shut, the last indication of his departure as the maid tended to the mess he left behind.

Mai eventually shifted her head back in front of her plate, her eyes washed over the small part of the table she allowed for herself, they were clouded over in broken resolve. She was calm and collected.

As were her family members, they said nothing in response to his outburst, only moments after he left, the soft clang of silverware could be heard again. They acted as if, nothing happened. In their perfect noble world, not a thing could penetrate it, except her. One girl, had such a large impact and at the same time had none at all. She was a phantom, tied to the living world by a physical body that had not died yet.

As she sat, on the throne of glass, she never realized how tight her hair had been braided up into a regal style. Strands of hair pulled a certain, unyielding way, pins and needles sticking into her scalp. An oncoming headache.

She wished to abruptly stand from her seat, like her father had done and leave their judgment, yet there she sat. Digging a silver knife into cold blueberry pancakes, trying to find that warm smile which once graced her lips.


	2. The Blossoms That Weeped

**Chapter II: The Blossoms That Weeped**

 **Mai** Wyverlis was not strong, she would not even lay a hand on a fly. Mai Wyverlis was not worthy to live in this palace, to be born a royal girl with such a surname—as Wyverlis, and receive all of the pleasantries one would. In fact, she was so unworthy of her title, Mai Wyverlis was not her name, not the true name given to her upon birth.

Father would never use it. He did at one point in time, when she was a small toddler, but once Mai reached a certain age, promptly at seven, a year after the cousins developed into their own Ark of The Maker, Father stopped using the name as it was much too beautiful for someone like her. Ugly things with lackluster magic did not deserve such a privilege.

Mai often reminded herself that she still did have a true name, even if the members of her family rejected that sentiment.

Perhaps it was for the best that no one called her by it? Father wouldn't be pleased and she wished his wrath upon no one, not even the people who abandoned her at the thought of a useless heir.

Lots of thoughts such as these blew through Mai's mind, often enough to create a perfect schedule of self-deprecation. They were like the soft winds blowing throughout the garden, such a light touch from the mother of gust above, yet these winds were capable of plucking petals from the prettiest flower, no matter how deeply rooted it may have been to the earth below.

Mother gust seemed to mock her internal metaphor, as Mai sat on the stone bench, the cold seeping through the ruffled golden skirt and petticoat which came to her ankles. Droplets of water splashed onto the nape of her neck, heated from the fountain bespeckled with diamond shards, which attracted many feathered creatures, singing their silvery songs to both the sun and the moon. Birds of different breeds bathed in the crystalline waters, tweeting as they were showered with rays of the sun and spray from their bath.

Mai breathed in, the air was sweeter than glaze, but as bitter as honey. Not wanting to miss the show, she refrained from close her eyes.

Surrounding the fountain in a shield, were tall-standing tree guards, oak as white as ash, with petals resembling a blend of rose pink and poisoned apple green. A gift from nature made by the esteemed Monarda Wyverlis and maintained to this day by Grandfather Edan. His Ark of the Maker pertained to living things solely, of nature and greenery. Only the third in the seven generations of Wyverlis to specialize in such a feat, it was truly magnificent.

The garden was once but only one, small marigold and with the green hands of Monarda and her grandchildren, it soon had the opportunity to blossom into everlasting life. Marigolds encircled the porcelain fountain, this time of year brought about the bees from every area of the Clover Kingdom, even from the hive which resided in this very garden. Breaking off into four separate paths, one was a path of white oak trees leading down a trail of stone, opening into a thicket of flowers, a patch of every known to man, with a wide, white wickered arch to both shield the viewers from the blazing sun and expose the flowers, so they could greedily drink up its solar magic. Down another path, the trail was lined of dirt, led to a fishing pond where the cattails grew wildly and the fish danced underneath the lapping movements of the drink, unbothered and slicker than slime. And, the third destination hidden within the trees was a path of twigs, that no matter the weight of the being, they would refuse to snap. It was the path that led to the most treasured gift of all... the Tree of Monarda. After a decade, the thick trunk continued to spread its ashen roots and the branches stretched to the heavens bearing the fruit of all. Bluesea peaches, golden apples, berries filled with cream.

Never tasting any of this fruit herself, it was forbidden for anyone but the High Maker and Maker Mother, not even their children could come close to it. Although, Mai guessed even if she could, Father would not have allowed it, as further punishment for being a faulty air, a faulty daughter.

Mai turned toward the final path, one that was barren and yet to be touched by the Ark of the Maker. That spot had been saved for the fourth Wyverlis who could give the gift of life.

Smiling at the thought, when would that be? The newest addition to Monarda's legacy, for some reason she could not wait.

The story of the first Wyverlis woman was one of many whims. Monarda, who came from nothing, with not even a surname to present to Ferdinand. Monarda only gave him two things, her mind and her heart. When they came together, the pair was unstoppable, Ferdinand brought the physical, anything one's heart could ever desire, while Monarda, someone with latent magic, brought love and life once she was empowered by the joining of her name with his. In the fairytales names had power and that certainly was no different for her family.

Mai found herself staring down at the reflection before her in the pure waters. Ashen gray hair pulled into a tight, intricate updo. Eyes wide, doe-ish, and the hue of seafoam green. Putting a toffee hand against her own cheek, it almost appeared as if someone else were caressing her. Her facial structure was heart shaped, in comparison to most Wyverlis women, even though they were all very much alike. Looking into her own reflection, she told herself that perhaps that was the only thing which made her different. That a simple structure of bone justified why she could not understand the only people she had ever known. Not understand in the way someone learns magic, studies it down to its core, to understand it's inner workings—no. Understand as in the way a wolf finds a mate, as is in the way a mother and daughter braid one another's hair, whilst talking about their deepest feelings. A connection that one only has with the people who share their blood.

Mindlessly, she took a curly strand of hair wrapping it around her slender finger, letting it free and watching in the fountains waters as it bounced back into firm place.

"Perhaps I am in an atrocity, after all." The words floated from her mouth with such ease they sounded natural once they fell on her own ears.

Mother's gust began to blow her winds unto the garden, cold as a touch from an estranged mother, creating cascading ripples on the fountains waters. Birds shook their feathers dry and took flight away from their temporary home. Branches starting to ache, as the trees waved to catch their attention. Sooner than she could look, the pink and green petals were being carried, sprinkling like dust around her. Most of them ended up landing in the fountain, while the rest either slowly fell to the grass or atop her head.

The shower of petals was interrupted quicker than it began, and Mai was so caught in its bliss, that she did not hear the flattening grass from behind.

"Don't tell me you're off daydreaming again it, dear Mai." It was a familiar voice, often coolly controlled and unbothered by the most frivolous of remarks. If Nero was in her position, let it be known that father might have met his match long ago.

Spinning to face the new presence, who's white strands of hair blew in the wind along with the petals, no matter if it was in a ponytail or bun, it always appeared as if he put no effort into neatening his locks. Although, his clothing did not say the same, infact, they didn't have to, Nero's style mirror fathers. Elegantly ruffled collars, and draping cloaks made of black fabrics. As opposed to Father, Nero donned brighter colors of crimson instead of dreary hues reminding her of a bitter death.

The smile Mai once had, fell a tinge. "No," she thought for a moment, "just thinking."

Nero pushed up his circular frames with his middle finger, adjusting his collar while taking steps toward her, not in any sort of rush. "I see. I thought I would find you in the gardens, as always."

Mai hummed a response, missing the canaries as they spoke. "To what do I owe this visit, cousin?"

"My, my. You almost look unhappy to see me, is that any way to treat family?"

"It's just a surprise is all," taking her skirt within her fingers, Mai closing her eyes and dipping forward, "apologies my Lord, I don't mean any disrespect."

Two fingers were placed underneath her chin, lacking calluses from age and pulsating warmth. Nero lifted her head up to face him, their eyes met and even from the kind gesture, he lacked something important to follow through with it. "You treat and gaze upon me as if I were your father. Whenever I address you, there are always formalities. You stiffen at my touch," Nero did not bend down to face her while he spoke. He took his fingers away, caressing a side of her cheek with the palm of his hand. "You should not fear me."

The smoothness of his words attempted to penetrate her guard, drizzled with sugars from the sweetest apple and filled with cream from those untouchable berries.

It wasn't that she feared him, although he was quite formidable, but Mai couldn't help but become tense during his presence. Nero has crafted such an ensemble, not one soul could question his destiny of greatness. Mai almost found herself jealous of her cousin, the early bloomer, who's abilities surfaced at the rough age of five. His sister was normal, while Mai could not even consider herself any kind of bloomer as of late.

"I do not fear you, Nero." Mai breathes a chuckle, "I only respect you. You and Maggie are truly kind to me, I will always be grateful."

Of course Nero and Maggie were both born into the same generation as her, but that wouldn't have stopped them if their hearts were truly black.

Nero pulled his lips into a smile, the corners of his mouth curled. To the women, this made him the devilishly handsome noble he was. "Respect me, as you should. A natural born wife, you are."

Mai crinkled a brow, his smile should have disarmed her, but she instead found herself wanting to move out of his grasp, much like how she wanted to remove herself from Father earlier this morning. "Wife?"

"Yes. I've decided that I wish to take you as my wife once I become the High Maker. I have no interest in my sister."

Nero? As the High Maker?

It was the truth that mother was barren and Mai was without any siblings, therefore she was the heir whether father wanted it to be so or not.

Eyes widening into saucers, Mai couldn't find the correct response for him, or rather, words that she didn't deem too rude to speak aloud.

Nero tilted his head, stroking a thumb against her cheek. "Why the look of distress, my dear? I'm not plotting to kill you or to attempt regicide. From my calculations, the event of you reigning as High Maker would surely bring about the end of our family, and then we couldn't accomplish what our ancestors would have wanted. Mother Maker is undoubtedly infertile and that is irreversible, so what of the title of High Maker once your father's magic begins to dwindle?"

The answer to that question would have been simple, but now that he's displayed the future with such clarity, quite frankly, she didn't know.

"But," Mai started, voice wavering before she even began saying the next words, the look she received from Nero made her decide otherwise at the thought of not finishing her sentence. "You— you aren't the son of the current High Maker. He is only your uncle, you are not in line for the throne. Father would never allow you to succeed him."  
Nero made a silent 'ah', tilting his head backwards and closing his eyes for a second. "You see, this is where you are wrong. It amazes me that you even still consider yourself a contender to the position of heir," his tone remained the same, as if he was simply speaking of trivial matters, "a girl who is very much like an innocent flower, or—these flower petals scattered about." Nero plucked a petal from atop her head, twisting it about between his fingers. "Beautiful to look at, but..." Then, with the flick of his wrist, golden particles drifted from the part of his body near his hand, like sand falling in an hourglass. A small dagger appeared in his hand, once they had disappeared, it's size was comparable to a baby bird. Now holding the petal in his palm, he seemingly swiped the dagger down the middle of it, gently but slow. Tilting his hand to the side, in two halves the petal fell to her feet.

Mai was left staring at the pretty, innocent thing.

"Fragile as a consequence," he finished.

Nero's voice remained composed, something he was good at, but the very action made the hairs on Mai's back stand on end.

"Now, don't you worry. I, unlike your brutal father will not treat you with ill will. All I ask is for your undying respect and love, in return, as reigning High Maker, I will make sure the Wyverlis respects my wife. I will even allow them to address you by your true name. If that is what you desire, my dear _Mairin_."

Taken aback, Mai leaned away, nearly falling into the waters of a fountain that would gladly take her, spray from the sputtering pole dampening the back of her head and dress. An arm with a grip as firm as his will, wrapped around the small of her back, lifting her from the bench with ease.

Mai shook her head a bit, a gesture that went unnoticed to Nero as he continued to pull her closer to him, the distance was intoxicatingly smothering.

"Well?"

Naturally, Mai wanted nothing more than to break eye contact. Turning her head slightly to the side, in a position where their lips did not perfectly line up. "Where has all of this come from? These ideas and such?"

Nero simply let his head tilt lazily to the side, raising his shoulders and letting them fall. "I've been thinking of this for quite some time." He then released her from his grip, brushing off his sleeves the moment they no longer made contact.

The Wyverlis was a family of pride, among other symbols. It was a family with much history and beliefs that led to practices that were kept from the rest of the world, where they could only assume, and even then they would only be written off as rumors.

Being a Wyverlis meant many things, and one of them being preserving thy name. To preserve the name, meant to preserve the very essence which made the Wyverlis strong and the only way to do this was simply to stay within the family.

"I'm giving you a choice, because you have not many of those."

Mai looked to the petals resting on the ground. To say no would have been wrong. How much longer would she continue to sully the Wyverlis name with her incapabilities to grow into one of them? But if, she said yes, it would be a blatant lie and she didn't wish to lie to one of the only family members who acknowledged her in a positive light. It would be a terrible lie, but perhaps Father would praise her for such.

Within the silence, a bell tolled once. A sound that could will all the birds to abandon their nests.

Before a word fell from her lips, heavy doors swung open, creating a light breeze which cleared most of the petals from the entryway.

Frozen, Mai kept her eyes below the woman who appeared before her.

"Children, inside now," she said, with haste.

Nero started to move before she could finish her sentence. Promoting Mai to do the same, as she trailed behind him, somewhere within her, she decided to speak without being spoken to.

"My Lady, Minalisa, we heard the bell. Is something the matter?"

Aunt Minalisa did not stop walking, her head with hair pulled into a tight and low bun, bobbed with every quick step she took.

"Her Radiance has fallen ill."

* * *

 **R &R at your leisure!**


End file.
